


Sign Me Up

by Floralfatality



Series: Adventures in Quarantine 2020 [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cus they're very mature, Domestic Fluff, Drawing, Drawing Dicks, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay Keith (Voltron), Kosmo is cute, M/M, One Shot, Quarantine, arts and crafts, very gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:53:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floralfatality/pseuds/Floralfatality
Summary: Lance was pretty sure he was well on his way to Cuckoo-Town at this point: he’d bought the ticket, hopped the train, and slipped his headphones on for the long ride. He’d only been trapped inside for five days and his brain was already betraying him! He had to double-check to make sure that what he was seeing was actually there, and sure enough, it was: a white, paper sign written out in blocky neon highlighters and taped up against a window across the street.In which Keith is busy, Lance is relentless, and Kosmo's just along for the ride.
Relationships: Keith & Keith's Wolf & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Adventures in Quarantine 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690312
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85





	Sign Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Woah, who knew I'd be able to pump out another one of these so quickly. I hope you enjoy it!

_Two windows down, dark hair, ripped bod_  
_You’ve got my heart on lockdown_

Lance almost spit his coffee straight out the open window and onto the street below. Good thing there was no one down there at the moment: he couldn’t imagine being showered from above with mysterious brown liquids would improve anyone’s day. 

Hehe. Kinky.

Wait, no. Ew. BIG ew wtF?

Lance was pretty sure he was well on his way to Cuckoo-Town at this point: he’d bought the ticket, hopped the train, and slipped his headphones on for the long ride. He’d only been trapped inside for five days and his brain was already betraying him! He had to double-check to make sure that what he was seeing was actually there, and sure enough, it was: a white, paper sign written out in blocky neon highlighters and taped up against a window across the street. It was genius. He was honestly disappointed that he hadn’t thought of it himself.

‘Keith, babe!’ he gasped, practically bursting with excitement. ‘You’ve gotta come see this!’

‘Is this like the time I _had_ to watch that video of the mice doing circus tricks?’ came a grumble from the other room. ‘Because I do actually have work to do, you know.’

‘Stop being such a grump and get out here!’ Lance shot back, too wrapped up in his awe to be annoyed at the implication that that video had been a waste of time; it was a gift to humanity and deserved to be seen by all, no matter what his procrastinationally-challenged boyfriend said.

Keith poked his head out from the office/bedroom, eyes wide and brows lowered in an almost tentative way, as if afraid that merely stepping into the room might be enough to lower his IQ. He gradually made his way over to the window, Kosmo plodding dutifully at his heels, and followed Lance’s gaze with a cautious expression that quickly bounced into a quizzical one upon meeting its target.

He looked back at Lance. ‘Is that supposed to be for me?’ he asked, oblivious himbo that he was.

‘Well, duh!’ retorted Lance as Kosmo nuzzled into his free palm. ‘You’ve gotta send them a reply!’

‘No… I don’t?’ Keith said, still looking both adorably and frustratingly perplexed.

‘Aw, Keith, come on!’ Lance moaned. This was the first time in their government-mandated incarceration – it sounded so much cooler that way – that anything interesting had happened to them, and he was not about to let Sir Grouchy McFunleech ruin it for him. 

‘Look how much effort they put into it!’ he argued. ‘Look at all the little hearts and… I think those are doves? The least you can do is acknowledge it!’

‘No, the least I can do is go back to work and pretend I never saw it,’ said Keith, crossing his arms. ‘If we answer them, they’ll just keep sending more messages.’

‘Geez, Keith, is that really such a bad thing?’ Lance replied in exasperation, wedging his free hand against his hip, much to Kosmo’s disgruntlement. ‘I’m starved for conversation here,’ he said as the dog started knocking his nose against Lance’s leg insistently.

‘We literally had an hour-long debate about macaroni this morning,’ Keith countered in disbelief, ‘and you talked to Pidge and Hunk just last night!’

‘Well maybe I want to talk to someone who won’t besmirch the good name of mac and cheese by making it with _spaghetti_ ,’ he retorted, setting his mug – a simple ‘ ~~COFFEE~~ VODKA’ mug that could never hold a candle to the beauty of what was lost only two nights ago – down on the corner of the TV stand and crouching down to give his good boy the pats he deserved.

‘I didn’t say I _would_ make it with spaghetti,’ Keith retaliated, getting adorably frustrated, ‘I just said that – You know what, it doesn’t even matter. You’re not sucking me into this again.’ 

‘It does too matter! Kosmo thinks so; don’t ya, boy?’ 

Kosmo looked quietly between his two masters for a moment, as if genuinely deliberating the question, but seemed to finally come to a conclusion, fixing his icy blue stare on Lance and dragging his tongue across his cheek in a quick apology kiss before trotting back over to Keith’s side. 

Lance gaped, bursting to his feet with a finger poised high above his head. ‘BETRAYAL! BETRAYAL IN MY OWN HOUSE!’

Keith leered at him like a shit-eating supervillain, one hand buried in Kosmo’s dark fur while the other flipped him off. ‘Suck it, McClain.’

Lance glared at his treacherous excuse for man’s best friend and then stuck his tongue out at his equally back-stabbing partner. ‘Okay, fine. If you traitors won’t help me, I’ll do it myself.’

Keith raised a brow, specifically the one he always used to try to make Lance feel stupid. It only worked, like, ten percent of the time. 

‘You,’ he said, pointing a finger at him, ‘my boyfriend, are going to flirt with strangers for me?’

It didn’t take much to snap Lance out of a sour mood; an opportunity to tease Keith was always too good to pass up.

‘Aw, babe, are you jealous?’ he grinned, waggling his own brows in the way he knew Keith hated.

‘Why would I be jealous?’ Keith said, bewildered. ‘Shouldn’t you be? They’re flirting with me.’

‘No point,’ Lance replied, sidling smugly up to his partner and wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. ‘I have it on good authority that you are so well and truly whipped you wouldn’t even dare look at another man.’

‘I’m going to fucking kill Adam,’ Keith growled, but he didn’t move, dropping his head back onto Lance’s shoulder with an exhausted scowl.

‘Love you too, babe,’ Lance crooned, pecking his boyfriend on the temple before releasing him. ‘Now, where’s the poster paper?’

Keith had clearly resigned himself to his fate, leaning up against the wall instead of retreating to the bedroom. ‘Did you remember to steal more from the school after you made Shiro’s birthday banner?’ 

Lance paused on his way over to the closet. ‘Quiznack!’ Lance had completely forgotten, of course. ‘We still have the banner though, right? We could write on the back of it?’

He hesitated a moment at the closet door, exchanging a look with the curious husky at his side, then let it swing open. Immediately, a wave of random knickknacks and supplies came flooding out onto the floor, including a trio of rogue tennis balls that bounced away in different directions, leaving Kosmo spinning with indecision before he finally took off after the most hyperactive one.

It took Lance only a minute to find the banner buried under a pile of semi-functional water pistols and a half-deflated exercise ball, and when he pulled it out, he pulled out yet more junk with it. Muttering a quick curse, he started shifting the hoard with the side of his foot, chucking a few of the lighter objects into the back to stop it from collapsing all over again. 

‘You know,’ piped up Keith, ‘instead of messing with our neighbours, we could try to clean out some of our junk.’

‘Nope,’ chirped Lance, kicking the last of the contents somewhat within the boundary of the doorway and then slamming the door closed before anything could break free again. ‘Too late. We’re doing this now. Goodbye, demon closet! See ya next year!’

Kosmo gave a soft ‘woof’ to get his attention and, to his dismay, he looked down to see three tennis balls all perfectly lined up at his feet.

‘No way, I am not opening the Hell-gate again. You can keep those.’

That seemed to suit Kosmo just fine: he snatched up one of the balls in his jaw and skipped over to his bed in the corner to chomp down on his rubbery victim.

Lance unfurled the banner in his hands, revelling in his own handiwork. It read, _Happy 8th Birthday!_ and was decorated like Andy’s bedroom in the first _Toy Story_ , fluffy clouds and toys painted in primary colours scattered across the background. Just what every ( _technically,_ he relented) 32-year-old man wanted.

‘It’s a shame to blemish such a masterpiece, but I guess if it’s only the back…’

He laid it out across the floor and dashed to the bedroom to grab the markers from his bag-pack, then dropped to his knees and started peeling away the tape that held the A3 sheets together. While he was working on that, Keith plonked himself down beside him and swiped a piece of newly-liberated paper and a marker.

‘Well, well, well,’ Lance drawled. ‘The great Keith Kogane, willingly partaking in social interaction. Who would’ve thought we’d see the day? Maybe it really is the apocalypse.’

‘Shut up, you wanted this,’ Keith grunted, but Lance could see the slightest peek of pink lips curling up behind a lock of dark hair and his chest filled with excited butterflies.

‘What ya gonna say?’ he asked, the anticipation practically bursting out of his pores.

‘Just wait, let me write it down first.’

As Lance watched the last of the letters form in blood-red ink, his butterflies slowly died, one by one.

‘Keith!’ he exclaimed in disapproval. ‘That’s so mean!’

‘What?’ his boyfriend replied defensively. ‘I said thanks!’

‘But it’s so blunt!’

_Thanks but no thanks_ , read the paper and _Dios_ , Keith was hopeless. How he’d ever wormed his way into Lance’s heart would forever be a mystery, but there he’d stayed for the past… how long was it now? Just over two years? That is, if you didn’t count all the months of pining and denial before that, which Lance tended not to on account of his pride.

‘Lemme just…’ He reached across Keith’s knees with a blue marker in hand and was about to touch down on paper when Keith grabbed his wrist.

‘I don’t trust you not to write something stupid,’ his boyfriend pouted.

‘Keith, I’m wounded!’ Lance gasped, clutching his shirt over his heart. ‘I’m just providing a little context.’

He leaned over again and this time, Keith didn’t stop him. He wrote the words, _Sorry, he’s taken_ and punctuated it with a winky face.

‘There, see? Not so bad.’ He reached for another marker, this time in yellow. ‘Now we gotta decorate it.’

‘Seriously?’ Keith groaned, only to be cut-off a moment later when a 60-pound husky came barrelling between the two of them to drop a dusty paw-print on the paper.

Lance laughed and switched his pen out for a purple one, moving in to outline the shape. ‘See, Kosmo’s into it!’

Keith rolled his eyes, but reached up to scratch Kosmo between the ears, grabbing the blue pen Lance had just abandoned and getting to work. 

The result of their combined efforts was… interesting…

‘Why are you drawing a racoon?’  
‘That’s Kosmo! What kind of dog-dad are you if you can’t even recognise your own son?!’

‘What even is that supposed to be? Some kind of garbage-elf???’  
‘No. Look at the stink lines. It’s clearly you.’

‘Why…. Ha… Wh-why does it have a… a diaper?’  
‘It’s one of those baby things with the – Keith, stop laughing! Keith, I’m… ha… I’m ser-serious!’

‘Keith, love of my life, burn in my loins, yee to my haw; for the last time… STOP DRAWING DICKS!’  
‘You’re just jealous ‘cos the red ones are bigger.’

Twenty minutes and a couple of stray pen-lines later, their task was complete and the sign was Blu-Tacked up against the glass. All that remained now was to wait.

‘Can I go back to work now?’ grumbled Keith, crossing his thoroughly cock-adorned arms.

‘Yeah, yeah, okay, Mr Grumpy,’ Lance said, flipping a dismissive yet dick-fingered hand in his direction. ‘Go back to your protein shakes and daily crunch goals. God forbid some poor jock lose an ounce of muscle mass during these trying times.’

‘Hey, those jocks paid for your Chinese food last night,’ Keith reminded him.

‘And I am eternally grateful to them for keeping me and my fat-rolls happy,’ he replied, patting his stomach contentedly.

Keith hmphed in reluctant amusement. ‘I’m just grateful to still have a job.’

Lance faltered in his good mood for a moment, taken back to only a week ago when Keith was sat with his head in his hands, agonising over the possibility of losing the job he loved so much; you could hardly be a personal trainer when there were no persons around to train. It really hurt to see him like that and to not be able to say anything to make it better. They were lucky that most of Keith’s clients had home gyms and were just as fitness obsessed as him.

‘Yeah,’ Lance said finally. ‘I know. Me too.’

Keith’s frown lifted slightly and when Lance picked at his fingertips, he let him take them.

‘Thanks for playing with me,’ Lance smiled tenderly, planting a quick kiss over his lips.

Keith shrugged, but shuffled forward when Lance leaned away again, twisting his hands so that their fingers were interlaced. ‘I owed you for the Mothman documentaries,’ he said softly, eyes half-lidded, but still sparkling in that way that made Lance’s heart beat a little faster, even after all this time.

‘And as Hunk is frequently reminding me,’ Lance uttered, ‘I owe you always for putting up with me.’

‘Hmm, you’re not wrong.’ Keith kissed him this time, a little slower, rocking forward and then back again as he broke the contact. ‘Give me a couple of hours and I’ll be done.’

‘Sounds good,’ Lance murmured blissfully as Keith took a step back, their hands still linked. ‘We might even have a reply by then.’

Keith nodded, and then, with a straight face, the straightest face Lance had ever seen on his gay-ass boyfriend, said, ‘We can ask them for their thoughts on spag and cheese.’

Lance tore his hands away in a flurry of outrage.

‘Literally NEVER talk to me again.’

**Author's Note:**

> Spag and cheese -- what are your thoughts?
> 
> A quick note to anyone who has lost a job or knows someone who has lost a job because of this pandemic: my heart goes out to you and I hope that you're doing okay. There was a short time where I wasn't sure if I'd be receiving my next payslip and it was really scary knowing that I might not be able to pay my rent, especially since I'm currently living abroad with no way of knowing when I'll be able to fly home. It was bad enough contemplating the possibility; I can't even imagine actually being in that situation. The best thing we can do right now is to support each other in the little ways we still can and hope that we'll reach the end of this madness sooner rather than later. Be kind, be considerate and stay safe <3


End file.
